


The Stillness

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9924149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: Sera and Ianthe spend a lot of time hanging out on the roof together, and one day, when Ianthe is feeling blue and can't find Sera, she crawls out there by herself.





	

They don’t make cookies for a long while, after that first time.  After all, Ianthe is busy trying to save the world and Sera is busy doing her part for the effort, as well.  Neither of them are actually good enough at baking to make it worth the effort, and Ianthe is pretty sure that the actual bakers resented them taking their supplies and valuable kitchen space that first time.  

That doesn’t mean they don’t take time for each other, however, or that they don’t spend any time on the roof.  It turns out that it’s a nice spot, despite the pigeon poop.  The nearby trees keep it cool, even during the afternoon, and, well, nobody looks for the Inquisitor on the tavern roof, which is a nice bonus.  

Late one night, Ianthe crawls out onto the roof by herself.  It’s weird to be there without Sera, but she can’t find the other woman and she wants to watch the stars by herself.  She likes this spot more than her balconies or the battlements.  Sometimes being the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste is too much, and the fact that she even has balconies and battlements is a pretty big reminder of both of those responsibilities.  

“Almost shot you with an arrow, yeah?” Sera’s voice comes softly from her window.  “Surprised me to see someone out there.”

“Sorry,” Ianthe says sheepishly, sitting up and looking over at her.  “I tried to find you, but I figured you’d make it back here eventually.”

“Drinks and insults with Dorian, away from pricks.  He always has the good stuff, not that I care about the difference,” Sera says, crawling out onto the roof.  “Didn’t know you were offering.  He’s fun, but you’re better.”

“Yeah, Dorian is a lot of fun and a good friend,” Ianthe says.  “Glad he’s here.”

“Didn’t think I’d like him at first, honestly.  All Tevinter-y and mage-y,” Sera says.

“Hey, I’m mage-y too,” Ianthe points out.  

“Yeah, but you’re also  _ woof _ , y’know?  And I didn’t know if I’d like you as a person at first anyway.  Thought you might be a high and mighty asshole shit,” Sera says.  “But you’re not like that.”

“Thank you,” Ianthe says sincerely, turning to stare back out over the courtyard.  “I try.”

“What’s wrong?” Sera asks, bumping her way across the roof so she’s next to Ianthe.  Carefully, she snuggles up next to her and wraps an arm around her as best she can.  “You seem sad.  Not right.”

“I don’t know.  I just feel sad sometimes,” Ianthe says.

“Yeah…  It’s shit, right?  Like, I bet Coryphetits never feels bad, at all, about anything,” Sera says.  

“Sometimes I worry…” Ianthe cuts herself off with a sigh.  She doesn’t want to burden Sera.

“If you want to hush, that’s okay, but if you wanna talk, that’s okay, too,” Sera says.  

“What if we do all of this and nothing changes,” Ianthe says softly.  “The world is falling apart and people are bickering politics.  Nothing is changing and it feels like nothing is ever going to change.”

Sera is silent for a while, but Ianthe finds her presence soothing.  Her breath brushes over her shoulder, leaving warmth behind that goes deeper than skin.  The sounds of drunken revelry drifts up from the tavern beneath her.  It’s never quiet right here except at the very earliest hours of the morning.  The babble is comforting.

“You help people.  Most big people don’t ever care about that.  Even if nothing changes big, you’ve changed stuff for lots of little people.  Makes it easier for the little people to make changes,” Sera says after a while.  “Changes on changes on changes.  Those ones will stick.  You do good, Inky.  Wouldn’t like you otherwise.”

Ianthe can’t help but think that she could do more.  That she must do more.  But she’s also so tired.  

“I hope you’re right, Sera,” Ianthe says.  “I really do.”

“I am,” Sera says easily.  She straddles Ianthe, a sure smile on her face.  “Lots of stuff is uncertain, but you’re not.  I mean, you are, but you’re not, too.”

Ianthe leans forward and presses her lips to Sera.  It’s a gentle kiss, and Sera’s fingers come to rest on her shoulders, bouncing up and down soothingly.  They skitter up to cup her face, never quite coming to rest.  

Sera is so warm where she’s pressed against Ianthe.  She keeps the kiss soft as the world narrows down to just the two of them.  The worry and sadness is still there, of course, but it feels less suffocating.  

When they pull apart, Sera looks down at her searchingly.  Her face gleams in the moonlight.  The sight of her always makes her heart skip a beat in her chest.  Love at first sight isn’t real, and Ianthe doesn’t know if she loves the other woman yet regardless, but from the start, she knew that Sera would become important to her.  

“Still seem sad,” Sera says, frowning.  

“I feel a lot better,” Ianthe reassures her.

“Good.  I’m shite at this usually,” Sera says, suddenly looking away.  “But… you’re important.  So I want to be good at it.”

The heat rises on Ianthe’s cheeks.  “You are.”

“Well… good then,” Sera says, sounding surprised.  She pushes on Ianthe’s shoulders.  “Lay down, look up.”

Ianthe listens to her, laying back.  She’s careful with her horns as they knock against the shingles of the roof below them.  Part of her is tempted to look at Sera because she’s always tempted to look at Sera, but she decides to be obedient.  

Sera shifts from straddling her to laying on top of her.  She tucks her head nicely under Ianthe’s chin, hair tickling softly.  It brings a smile to Ianthe’s face despite her deep seated sadness.  

Even laying like this, Sera’s not completely still.  Sera taps her fingers lightly against Ianthe’s side.  This is one of many things that make her so different from Ianthe; she’s always in motion, but Ianthe has never had a problem finding stillness until recently.  She should find Sera’s restlessness anxiety inducing, but she never does.  

“Stars make dizzy sometimes,” Sera says softly.  “Way up there, always, and so many of them.  But they’re pretty, too.  Lot like you.”

“I make you dizzy?” Ianthe asks.  

Sera giggles in that cute, low way she does that makes Ianthe’s stomach twist pleasantly.  “Well, yeah!  You’re… wow.  Also: way up there.  Get dizzy with all the looking up.”

Ianthe rests a hand on Sera’s waist.  She rubs her thumb gently against the fabric of her shirt, feeling the strong muscle underneath.  At first glance, Ianthe hadn’t expected Sera to be anything other than skin and bones, but, wow, had Sera proven her wrong.  Always.  

“Maybe you should look up a little less?” Ianthe suggests, smiling up at the stars.  

“Nah.  Good view,” Sera says.  “But look up.  Get dizzy.  Makes the sad go away, just for a little bit.”

Ianthe listens.  It’s curious.  She’s never cared that much about the stars, one way or the other.  They’re there and they’re nice to look at, but the draw of friendly fireside conversations always intrigued her the most.  When worn out, she’d crawl into her bed or bedroll and then fall right asleep.  

The stars are infinite white dots against the endless darkness.  Her brain wants to categorize them, to organize them into shapes like at the astrariums.  Her brain finds some shapes, different shapes.  The house she grew up in, the stream she’d bathe in, the jagged lines of her brother’s horns.  They’re nice, but not soothing because the shapes morph to dragons, to skulls, to a twisted face that reminds her of Corypheus.  

“You’re doing it wrong.  Too much thinking,” Sera hisses.  

Ianthe nods a little, even though it’s a difficult proposition.  Her brain feels like it’s always working and she feels like she needs it to always be working.  But Sera is right.  No one can think constantly.  

So she focuses on the great swirl of stars and on the weight of Sera on top of her.  The black abyss beyond the stars and the warmth dulled by two layers of fabric, but still so present.  Whenever any other thought tries to burrow its way into her head, she pushes it aside.

It takes a long time, so long that it would be embarrassing, if she was thinking about it.  But she’s not.  In fact, she’s not thinking about anything.  

She inhales sharply when the blankness hits.  It’s been so long since she’s felt so unhindered.  This is the kind of relief that she’s been seeking since even before she became Inquisitor, or even the Herald of Andraste.  There’s just a brief moment of absolute nothingness.

That’s all there is.  A moment of stillness.  A moment of unprecedented peace.  It loosens something deep inside of her that she hadn’t even realized was wound tight.  Maybe she should’ve known.  Maybe that would’ve made things easier.

“Thank you,” Ianthe breathes out, once the stillness inside of her dissipates.  “I never would’ve figured this out by myself.”

“I want to be here for you, Inky,” Sera says.  “Don’t always know how, when it doesn’t involve arrows.  But I want to help.”

“I couldn’t do this without you,” Ianthe says.

“Good thing you won’t have to, huh?” Sera says.

Ianthe looks down at Sera, hair so bright in the moonlight.  Maker, she doesn’t know how she got so lucky.  

“Good thing.”


End file.
